


slowly

by darling



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Vignettes, lio-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 03:17:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20987942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darling/pseuds/darling
Summary: healing is the hardest game: getting through the days until they get a little better.





	slowly

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. i know there are a lot of ways things could be handled but as usual promare gave me Feelings and i vibe off of those more than straight-up narrative...but the longing of getting better is something i think we can all relate to, in different ways.  
2\. thanks for reading <3 t_t; ah i love this movie so much.

_we aren't born who we are. we grow into it. _

*

  
  
  
  
  


close...

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


...open. close. open. close. open.

the dark as a rule is not new for lio; but this dark is -- the dark where he lets his palm lay open in wait and nothing comes. 

open. close. open. close. open.

outside: cars. people. the din of non-silence.

yet it's so quiet. unbearably quiet.

open.

he doesn't miss the laughter or the warmth. he doesn't want it back. 

he doesn't.

close.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


meis has long felt lio to be a force larger than life, so it feels strange and wrong to see him so small. 

"but he is small," says galo unhelpfully, but there's something about the unabashed affection in his voice that turns meis' irritation into a mild sigh.

"that's not what i mean."

but what he means might not be something meis can say precisely how something of that nature needs to be said: wordless yet unignorable -- some phenomenon of humanity with the face of a beautiful boy and the heart of a star that never stops falling. not a thing to make a wish on but maybe like the old north star -- one who guides because that's what a north star type does; because that's what it needs to do. 

or did.

meis thinks in some ways lio still leads; by example first and foremost. 

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


gueira remembers watching galo drop a jacket perfect for him and too large by five for lio down over his shoulders anyway, watched the bend of lio's head and the convenient curtain of his hair and how galo didn't look at him yet seemed wholly focused on him. he remembers lio's hands shaking. and he remembers lio's smile that night on one of countless wreckages as he said to them:

"i'm not 'boss' anymore, you know."

it hadn't occurred to gueira this would be the case. from the tensing of his whole body beside him, he could tell meis hadn't thought of it either. 

right now, even though lio is almost a block away, gueira can see it: the tremor in his hands at his sides, like they're waiting for something.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


"is it 'cause you're the strongest?" galo asks him one day.

"what?" 

lio asks but looks away at the same time. though it's to no point; the fact that he hasn't been sleeping, the fact that his body is never warm enough, the fact that he seems as though he'll rattle quietly apart at any second? obvious. 

galo doesn't like it. 

"i mean." galo huffs. lio, amused, watches his bangs fly up then down. "you burned the hottest so maybe that's y'know why you're so cold!" 

sitting at the outdoor cafe, lio is tired. lio is tired and he despises how weak he feels and he can't remember what it feels like to be warm enough even though it seems a cosmic hilarity that he'd ever forget. laughing children pass. a too loud man on his phone. more cars. no one. lio is tired. 

but something strange wells up inside him. it's not promare. it's not. 

but it's...warm. 

feels...really feels...oh.

oh.

when lio laughs, he finds he cannot stop. he laughs until it hurts. he laughs until he cries.

galo asks him if he's broken.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


open. close. open. close. open.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  
  


lio laughs and galo thinks it's very bright even if it's a little alarming how often he ends up crying too.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


maybe lio isn't the leader of mad burnish anymore; because there isn't any mad burnish to lead. but to meis and gueira, he is always 'boss'. 

also: ours.

they keep eyes on him, not because they have to but because they want to.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


lio is too grateful to willfully misunderstand. 

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


they don't talk about what they did or who they were before and when a harmless stranger asks if lio is really as old as the rumors say, lio's mouth curves in a way that suggests the answer should be obvious even if it isn't.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


"try this!" galo holds out his hand. lio, perplexed, scowls but also holds his hand out too --

\-- only to have it grabbed tightly.

"what--"

"well?!"

they've been in such close quarters so many times at this point, galo getting up in his face shouldn't bother him and really it doesn't 'bother' him per se. rather, lio is off-kilter and lio doesn't like being off-kilter so he leans back only for galo to push himself even closer.

"well what?!"

galo pouts. lio rolls his eyes. 

  
  


"you warmed up!" galo's 'duh' tone is olympian and lio would be annoyed if he wasn't busy being so surprised.

because he's right.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


it's probably coincidence that lately it's always galo -- making him laugh, holding his hands, trying to get lio to join burning rescue because they 'make the best team ever' and so on. probably. 

or not.

and maybe what makes accepting any of it so hard is how fast and easy it is for galo to give lio all the credit:  _ 'you _ made it',  _ 'you _ warmed up',  _ 'you _ did it'. for someone who prides himself on so much, it turns out galo thymos is actually more like a dog: stupidly loyal, stupidly honest, and stupidly smartly in love with all of his friends.

friends?

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  
  


open. close. open. close. open.

  
  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  
  


the voice of his promare was a child. lio wonders if by sending it away he also sent it home. 

he hopes so.

  
  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


"you know, boss--"

"'lio'."

"boss," gueira resumes, just sending lio a smile in return for the frown. "you can think about yourself now." meis nods, the braid of his hair falling over his shoulder heavily, the soft sentiment of agreement in his profile lifted and his fingers laced. 

and it's not permission; gueira would never. and it's not grace; meis would never. 

it's not their place. (they wouldn't want it to be.)

but what it is?

well, maybe there's no word for it: how lio sits there, his hands empty and his heart full as the sun rises over the still-recovering earth.

  
  
  
  
  
  


* 

  
  
  
  


it's also this: his first burn, the impossible gentleness of how galo treats it, and the phantom memory of being this cold only to become so warm -- pieces pieces pieces, drawing back into one incendiary whole.

the burn scars and galo ruffles his hair even as lio bares his teeth at him for it. galo grins and proclaims: "we match!"

they don't. their burns don't look anything alike.

that's what lio tells him, though some of what he thinks is closer to this:

we already did.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


"hey."

"mm?"

"....i'm cold. do something."

"oh! okay!"

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


if there were witnesses it would be to the kind of smile one doesn't even know one is capable of until that specific feeling hits.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  
  


it's not that their first kiss doesn't count; it's that the second one counts just as much.

and the third.

and the fourth.

  
  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


the only person surprised to find he can burn brighter than ever now, is none other than lio himself.

  
  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


even in the summer, lio wears turtlenecks, eventually made of a special technology developed by lucia who promises there are no hidden tricks up his literal sleeves. even with the turtlenecks, he steals galo's jacket even though he has his own. but as far as lio is concerned, this is his too.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  


yes it's not that he misses the voice but he supposes it's an absence he can't help but feel and dive into searching because quiet for so many years has meant a tightrope walk: of peaceless peace, of secrets, of not-knowing. 

lio tries to learn about this new quiet:

pre-dawn with no sirens and the city filling up every corner of his world in a way that is losing some of its oppression.

slowly. slowly. slowly.

  
  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


open. close. open. close. open.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


too slowly.

"you didn't even do anything!" galo seems more upset than lio, lio who eyeballs the top of galo's head with combination bemusement and something more thoughtful.

"technically, i did."

"before!"

"i know."

the grumbling noises galo makes are cute. lio flinches only a little when the antiseptic is applied to the cut on his face. 

"stupid--" galo is still ranting, radiating heat from his sense of injustice and his still sort of childlike confusion about the slowness of change, the sort-of almost reluctance of people to want things to improve if it's at the cost of living differently. 

but lio knows all about that and it's not that he thinks he deserves rocks thrown at him, insults lashed out, gangs seeking 'human justice' without a tag to their own name. it's not. he stands by what he's always done: a will to be free like everyone else, as far as he can tell. but he knows, so he gets it even if he doesn't agree.

"look at me." galo tilts lio's chin and it's familiar these days and the gash under lio's right eye, cleaned and treated and now bandaged, pales in its discomfort next to that kindness. 

mad burnish, he knows, remains associated with fear for most. he feels worst for his fellow burnish who will, like him, reap the outcome of their choices; if he could spare anyone, he would spare them. but it doesn't work like that.

lio is busy thinking of this when he feels galo press his mouth to his forehead. 

"galo?"

"there."

lio tilts his head. galo beams. 

"all better."

for some reason, galo always makes him laugh. 

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


"hey."

"what?"

"are...you really super...older than me?"

there's no real ire behind the clipboard lio flings at galo but galo whines all the same.

  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


"lio! lio! li--"

unable to breathe, lio flings himself awake. it's dark; of course it's dark. he can't--

"hey. hey you're okay. lio. look at me." 

for all his legendary reputation as an idiot, galo is good at his job because he loves his job and he loves people.

he also loves lio, this one person who he is starting to understand -- over time -- is trying to remember what that means now that he can. galo sees it in the other burnish too -- meis and gueira who are never far, and those whose names he does not know: elderly, children, people his age. like they are waiting for the other shoe to drop. and he knows he's lucky, even if he doesn't know a lot else.

well, he knows this too: how to not touch too fast, how to get lio to breathe and focus and count without words, how to rest his hands in a hover more to frame his attention than his face, and later: how to let lio thread his arms around him as best he can -- lio, who can't get comfortable feeling confined even with love, but knows how to hold onto things with all his heart.

  
  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


open. close. open. close. open.

the hand and the heart; a door and another door.

lio and the burnish on an uphill battle no one talks about.

galo running up and down the mountain just to make sure they know someone cares enough to do it with them.

open. close. open. close. open.

the hand and the heart. 

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


"eat more!" 

the look lio gives the pizza is relatable: the tastebuds willing but the body unsure. he knows galo has taken up the guard dog's role of not only keeping his eyes peeled for vengeful civilians but also for more basic yet somehow dangerous things: eating and sleeping for example. lio's cheeks puff out as he takes in a breath, then hollow as he exhales in a pout he doesn't mean to make as he says, "fine, one more."

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


without a governor, the city looks to galo who knows enough to know he's not cut out for that. ignis isn't really either but he takes the brunt of the panic and questions and chaos anyway and tells galo just to do his job. they'll figure it out. and lio who's never really had a father figure he can remember, knows how galo felt about the former governor, but thinks, watching ignis ruffle galo's hair until it's a bird's nest, this is more how it should be. 

hero-worship can be human too. 

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


open. close. open. close. open --

the hand that covers his own lio would know in this dark or any dark at this point. 

and maybe galo noticed lio opening and closing his hand like a nervous tic; and maybe he didn't. lio doesn't care. 

galo takes his hand because lio lets him and they both know this. galo leads lio around at night because lio lets him and they both know this: exploring all-night haunts and not talking about lio's insomnia because some things just take time. 

and patience.

it's not something lio would have pinned galo for.

but the heart's funny like that.

galo can't wait five seconds for his gear to launch in a test-run but he can wait a whole night out for someone who needs him. 

"such a dog," lio mumbles, but he's smiling. galo, hard of hearing for someone so disarmingly young, glances back over his shoulder,

"what was that?"

muffling his own laughter, lio shakes his head and uses his bangs to his advantage, says, "nothing."

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


in another world, a sentient star laughs too, in its throng of voices a child's song that sings -- the unguarded joy of being whole.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


open. close. open. close. open--

"are you going to let me in?" galo has his face sort of shoved in the partially open door. lio peers up at him through narrowed eyes.

"maybe."

"this is my apartment!"

"our apartment."

"our! apartment!"

lio  _ does _ let him in, gives up on galo understanding the password and drags him down for what should be obvious. but this is his stupid part. and lio kind of likes it like that anyway, smiles against galo's surprised smile and swallows up his 'oh okay' the way he used to drink in flames and oxygen and desperation: completely.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


it's the first time in years lio has had this thought:

mine.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


he likes it.

  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


open. close. open. close...

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


...open.

  
  
  
  
  


*


End file.
